


Yellow Flowers

by Noname109



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because of Reasons, Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, Frottage, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Mating Rituals, Monster of the Week, Nobody is Dead, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Pining Derek, Porn With Plot, Possessive Derek, Scent Marking, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16714819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noname109/pseuds/Noname109
Summary: “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Derek practically roars, and Stiles postures himself so he’s standing straight up, chest puffed out.“Doing the job no one else has the guts to.”“Because none of us are as stupid, thick headed, and stu —““You already said —““Stupid.” Derek scowls at him, and Stiles glares right back. “So what did you find out?”Or the five times Derek saves Stiles, and the one time it’s the other way around.





	Yellow Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be porn, and it turned into a giant ploty mess. Oh, well. I just can’t help myself when it comes to Sterek. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, thank you so much for reading! :)

The first time it happens, Stiles doesn’t even notice. He’s just going about his normal business. 

You know, caked in blood and what he really hopes is just rain water. His clothes are totally soaked through to his skin, and the fabric clings to him uncomfortably. He picks at the collar of his shirt. 

Stiles makes an unhappy sound and keeps trudging on through the forest mud behind the rest of Derek’s pack. And he seems to be the only one not totally for this disgusting adventure. 

The cold of the night starts to seep in and makes the slick of his clothes even chillier. His teeth chatter and Derek breathes in a deep sigh. He stops in his tracks and so does the rest of the pack, Alpha scenting the air. 

Derek turns and walks back to where Stiles is being the caboose of the group. He peels his jacket back and shoves it in Stiles’s hands. 

“Shut up,” Derek bites out, each word dripping in malice. Stiles pulls the leather on over the rest of his clothes and mumbles a thank you as they all continue on. 

“I have a name, you know!” Stiles calls out after Derek, but he just keeps on going. Stiles shakes his head and pulls the jacket closer to his body and around his face, his nose undoubtedly red from the cold. He pulls in a deep breath. 

It smells like spice and the sharp tang of cologne. It makes his chest fill with warmth and he shivers one last time before he lets it flood the rest of his body. 

Stiles smiles to himself and walks with a new ferver in his step. He only just misses Scott shaking his head at him fondly.

* * *

The second time it happens, it is so different and all too similar. 

“Derek, what the —“ 

“Shut your fucking mouth for once and just —“ 

“Dude, you can’t just storm in here and —“ 

“I said shut _up_ , Stiles!” Derek stage whispers, arm across his chest and pressing him up against the lockers with a loud clang. Stiles shoves back, and Derek scowls at him, but lets himself be pushed away and into the middle of the hallway. 

Derek jerks his head towards the door, and Stiles rolls his eyes but follows after him, only grumbling a little bit. Derek stalks out the door with purpose in every step, and Stiles tries not to snicker at how ridiculous he looks. 

The door opens with an almost silent whoosh, and Derek passes Stiles quickly after they slip out of the school building. 

“Where are we —“ 

“If I have to tell you to shut your goddamn mouth one more time I swear to fucking —“ 

“Damn dude, lead the way faster then,” Stiles grinds out, and grinds his teeth, biting his tongue so he doesn’t snap back. 

Derek’s bushy eyebrows furrow and they continue at a brisker pace. That is until Derek is tackled by something too fast for Stiles to even see what it is. 

He hears Derek’s predatory growl, and then him and the... thing are tumbling around towards the bank of trees in a blur and twist of bodies.

Stiles chases after them feeling heavy footed and slow, werewolf and... creature speed too fast for him to keep up with. He breaks into a sprint and tries to ignore the weight of his backpack that slows him down even further. 

His converse slip in the wet dirt and he slips and slides on every other stride, eventually landing on his ass but he gets back up so he can continue after the quickly disappearing blob of fur and... slime? Scales? He can’t really tell. He just knows it is most definitely _not_ humanoid. 

“Stiles!” He hears someone scream, a woman it sounds like, and then he’s back on the forest floor. His hands grapple for purchase as he slides and fumbles down a hill. His mouth is parted on a shout and then it’s covered by something that drips acrid liquid into his mouth. 

His eyes open up and he looks at the thing on him. It’s green, and lizard-like, and its skin shifts as if changing into something. Scales become skin, and its eyes blink a third eyelid, orange color of them bright and terrifying. 

It smiles, rows and rows of teeth showing, and then Stiles’s hands are no longer fists against slippery skin, they’re fisted in a jacket. 

Derek’s jacket. The same one that clads his own shoulders in its fine fabric. 

The green color fades to the tan of Derek’s skin as it _becomes_ him, predatory teeth still gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the trees. The monster shutters and pins him down. 

“I’m going to destroy you,” it promises, tongue snaking out to wet its lips, Derek’s lips. Stiles feels terror fill his veins. It makes his heart beat loud in his ears. He can hear other footsteps in the forest trying to find him, heavy footfalls meaning they’re human whoever they are. “You’re his and I’m going to make you _mine_ ,” it growls out and then shoves its head into the crook of Stiles’s neck. 

Its claws dig into Stiles’s skin as it pushes his head to the side. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” he yells against the hand on his mouth and tries his best to roll to the side, but he can’t even _move_. 

The creature laughs, something the real Derek rarely ever does. The sound is unfamiliar and it makes Stiles shiver. 

“Just wait until he sees us, sees me claiming you, something he’s only ever —“ 

Stiles’s breath is knocked out of him as something else slams into him, pressure heavy on his sternum. 

He closes his eyes before he can see what else happens, he just hears the high pitched scream and the slick sound of skin being torn apart. The gargle of blood. 

Stiles opens his eyes and sees Derek standing over the dead body of himself, all broken apart and bleeding. Stiles fights back against the bile rising in his throat, heart heavy with fear.

“Please tell me you’re the real Derek,” Stiles squeaks out as Derek rounds on him. The real Derek blinks his human eyes at him, and Stiles lets out a sigh of relief. He lets his body sag against the bark of a tree. “Thank god,” he breathes. 

The adrenaline catches up to him and suddenly he feels all too tired, too sleepy to move. Derek catches him as he falls. 

“Are you hurt?” Derek asks, and starts pressing fingertips into the exposed skin of where the monster cut open his clothing, that or where he was cut by falling down the giant hill he somehow has to make it back up to. 

“Dunno, too tired. Hurts.” 

Derek growls and picks him up bridal style, using his strength to get them back up to the top in record time. He lays Stiles down on the ground once they’re safe, and begins checking him over again. 

Stiles’s eyelids are heavy, and his head spins as Derek leeches the pain out, black lines forming up his arms. 

“Whoa there, big guy,” he slurs and tries to lift an arm to stop him, but it doesn’t move. Derek just hums and watches the little cuts and scrapes heal. Stiles lets his eyes slid shut and ignores the pass of a tongue over his jugular as he falls to sleep.

* * *

Stiles ignores the pains in his chest in favor of researching these... shapeshifters that seem to have taken over the city. 

And the more information he finds out, the more bleak the outcome is looking. 

Prognosis of ingesting poison from these creatures? 

Definitely not good. Normally traveling on six legs, they force their hosts to injest poison through vents in the palms of their hands. Able to shapeshift into any person they’ve seen makes them the perfect predator. 

He writes it all down in his notebook and tries to keep a level head about it all. Tries his best to save more lives before someone else steals all the glory and thunder. 

Or before someone else is torn open that isn’t the creature itself. 

Wrapping everything up and putting it in his bag, he sets off for the Hale house. 

In recent months, Derek’s been working on it to make it the pack house, and he’s done a surprisingly okay job. He only messed up the living room twice. It left the pack impressed and Derek preening. 

Stiles keeps the notebook in his arms as he makes his way to his Jeep. Scott is already in the passenger seat when he gets there, small smile in place. 

“Hey, man, you ready for the pack meeting tonight at Derek’s house?” Scott asks, beaming at him. Stiles just snorts. 

“Sure? Just like every other Friday, dude,” Stiles replies as he climbs into the driver’s side. He keeps the notebook on his lap as he pulls out of his driveway and starts making it out to the edge of the Preserve. 

Scott is practically bouncing by the time they get there. Stiles shoots him a side long glance as they pull in, Jeep coming to a crawl. 

“You okay, Scott? You’ve been — _oomph_!” The wind is knocked out of him as he’s shoved out of the car and onto the ground in one fluid motion. 

He scrambles to his feet only to be pinned back down. The familiar taste of something sour and foul in his mouth makes his eyes snap open, dirt clouding his vision. 

Orange eyes blink down at him, and Scott’s face twists up until he’s grinning all those stupid shark teeth down at him, tongue lolling out to drip saliva down onto his face. 

Stiles’s scream is muffled. 

“I’m here to get the job done, Stiles.” His name is slurred and hissed out between the gaps in yellowing, sharp teeth. Stiles squirms and fights back. 

Then it’s like a switch is flipped as his body goes soft and pliant, brain turning to mush. 

“Just take it, it’ll kick in soon,” it whispers in his ear, stinky breath ghosting over his sweat damp skin. 

Distantly, he remembers what this means for him. Poison settles in his belly as he’s forced to swallow around it as it fills his mouth or else he’d choke. It makes his muscles go doughy, makes him begin to fade in and out of consciousness. 

His eyes flicker over to where the yellow of his notebook peeks out from under his sweatshirt that’s still sitting on his seat in his car. 

He hopes that someone finds it before he dies like this, all weak and... human. Everything he wishes he wasn’t. 

“Stiles?” Someone calls. Scott. Hopefully the real Scott. “Get off of him!” And then his vision clears as the being above him is torn off his limp body. 

He coughs up neon green poison, and it drips out of his mouth and what feels like everywhere else. He can feel it seep into his veins. He can feel his heart slow. He can smell it as it comes out of his pores. 

His vision starts to go black. Then someone is at his side, slapping him awake with gentle little pats to his cheeks. 

“Stiles. Stay with me, stay awake,” Derek breathes. 

“Der?” He slurs around the liquid on his tongue. Derek fishes a finger in his mouth and pulls as much out as he can, turns him on his side so he can pat his back to make him cough it up. “Hurts.” 

“I know, just... fuck. Call Deaton!” He screams at someone. Stiles has just enough energy to point a finger at the open car door. 

“Notebook,” he breathes, and then the world goes black as Derek leaves him there. 

When he comes to, the first thing he feels is the dryness of his throat. It makes him choke a couple times before he’s awake enough to produce saliva that makes it better. 

Next, he opens his eyes that are crusted shut. The room he’s in is clean, unnaturally so, and devoid of smell. At least as far as he can tell with his human nose. 

He’s wrapped up in sheets, bare chest pressed against the pillows in the bed he’s on. Next to him on the bed is a leather jacket, similar to the one he had before it got destroyed by the monster. 

The monster —

“It’s dead.” 

Stiles gaze snaps up to meet Derek’s. He stands propped up against the door jam. Stiles nods his head slowly as he sits up. 

“Clothes are in the drawer there,” Derek points and Stiles follows the direction until he sees the dresser on the far side of the otherwise barren room. “And that,” Derek says and moves to point at the jacket on the bed, “is for you. I’ll be downstairs.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles breathes, and Derek shrugs and walks off, closing the door behind him for privacy. 

When Stiles raises the jacket to his nose it smells like pine needles and grass. He puts it on over the shirt he steals out of Derek’s drawer. 

He tries not to let his heart beat too fast as he descends the stairs. 

Derek’s lips just quirk up a little bit when he asks Stiles if he wants pancakes. 

“Hell yeah.”

They don’t say anything else about it.

* * *

He never does get his notebook back. 

And honestly? It kind of pisses him off. There’s some personal shit in there. His name and Derek’s doodled together? Definitely not. Nope. Not once. Or twice. Or two dozen times. Not at _all_. 

So when he marches up to Derek’s door, fist balled up and about to pound into the wood of it, he does not expect it to just be flung from an upstairs window, pages flapping in the wind. 

He barely has time to catch it, stumbling over his feet. 

“Rude! Not even going to say hello?” Stiles calls up to the open window, but it just slams shut in reply. He huffs a scoff and makes sure all the pages are intact.

He sighs in relief. Not one of the pages is different or gone. He tucks it under his arm and makes his way back to his Jeep, spirals digging into the leather of Derek’s — his — jacket. 

As it starts to rain, he pulls the collar higher up on his neck and ignores the shadow watching him from the house as he pulls out of the driveway and onto the highway. 

He takes the backroads home, drawing out the drive so he can listen to his music and sing along. It’s not until he’s about twenty minutes from his house that he hears his engine start to sputter and shake. 

Stiles curses under his breath and waves to the person honking behind him as he pulls over and his car stalls out, ultimately shutting totally off. 

His hand pounds on the steering wheel. 

“Come on, baby. You can do it.” When he twists the key in the ignition, it starts to turn over and then turns back to all blacked out lights and no spark of life. “Fuck you, too.” 

He opens his door and hops out after popping the dash open. He moves around to the front of the car and starts to poke and prod at things, but it’s to no avail. He has no idea what he’s doing. 

And his phone is a dead little box in his pocket. 

“Need help, honey?” He hears behind him, and turns to find Lydia standing there, wrench in hand and car all parked and ready to jumpstart his. A grin breaks out over his face despite the chill settling in his bones from the rain. 

“Yes, please, my dear wife.” 

She rolls her eyes and shoves him aside. She sets to work, pulling out this part and that, finally deciding he just has a dead battery. She jumps his car, and pulls away after giving him a small kiss on his cheek. 

He slams his hood shut with a thud. 

“Need help, honey?” A sweet, all too familiar voice calls.

The cold runs through his veins as he decides his next move. His breath comes out raggedly. His heart stutters. 

Lydia left her wrench. 

He grips it in his hand and bounces it a few times before rounding on the monster. 

It catches it easily, and rolls with Stiles’s moves until he’s pinned against the hood of his car, wrench the only thing separating them. The poison seeping around the wrench burns the metal down until it’s gone. 

It’s acid against his skin and Stiles chokes on a scream. 

“Just let us get you, Stiles. Stop fighting us,” it sneers, and shifts into someone he doesn’t recognize. Its face contorts as it shifts and shifts, finally settling on a form it’s content with. It gives Stiles enough time to get the upper hand. 

He’s given up on fighting, and instead slips out from under it and books it to the driver’s side. 

Luckily, this far out, there’s no one to see him. No one that would think anything of this interaction. His hands fumble with the key, and his eyes leave the creature for only a fraction of a second before he’s tearing out onto the road and back to Derek’s house. 

He doesn’t know why he does it. He should go home where the guns and weapons are, not back to the brooding Alpha’s house where he doesn’t know if he’s even going to survive. 

You know, out in the middle of fucking no where. 

He speeds so fast and hopes his dad isn’t patrolling around looking for speeders or else he’ll be pulled over and they’ll both be dead. 

He watches the creature follow him, leaping this way and that on inhuman legs, but humanoid torso and face. A shiver of fear makes his adrenaline kick back in. 

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, knuckles white and teeth clenched in his mouth that’s gone dry again. 

It only takes him ten minutes to get back to Derek’s house. Derek is on the porch when he gets there. 

“Stiles, what —“ 

“Run!” He screams, and takes off into the woods as fast as he can, creature very quickly catching up. If it could practically outrun Stiles’s car, it’ll have no problem outrunning him. 

He keeps going until he can’t hear anything but his own heartbeat in his ears. He’s so far out into the trees now, there’s no way he’ll make it back on his own. He tries his best to calm down the rising panic, and he gets his bearings. 

He covers his tracks as he makes his way to the river bank. At least here, he’s not the loudest thing. 

He waits for what feels like hours until finally he hears the call of his name. 

Before any... thing, or one, can make its way to him, he climbs a tree. He climbs up and up and up until he’s so high that no one would think to look up that far. He watches the creature run through the woods on long, sinuous legs. 

With Derek’s face on top. Teeth and muzzle covered in blood. 

Stiles shakes with anger. 

“Stiles!” It calls to him in Derek’s voice, unknowing that Stiles isn’t even listening. Just watching intently. The thing circles and circles mindlessly, like a drone, for what feels like hours, until finally it gives up and trots away, shifting back to full form. 

Stiles stays up in the tree for another long period of time. He waits it out until it’s dark and the moon hangs low in the sky. 

“Stiles,” someone calls brokenly, and he halts his descent from the tree to watch. Flashlights shine and heavy feet fall against the crunch of leaves and twigs. “Stiles, Stiles!” 

There’s a group of people, his pack he realizes, looking for him. He still waits until he knows it’s not a singular creature, until he knows it’s really them looking for him. 

“Up here!” He finally calls back, and chaos ensues as they all fight each other for who gets to save him from the tree. Finally he makes it to the bottom on shaking legs. 

And it’s not Scott or Allison or even Isaac who sweeps him off his feet into a bear hug. He would know the smell of this person from a mile away. 

He feels the wetness of tears against the nape of his neck as Derek presses his face in there against the cuts and scrapes that the last creature left. 

“Thought I lost you,” he murmurs against the shell of his ear and Stiles shivers. 

“Thought it killed you,” Stiles replies, and shakes some more. Derek finally puts him down and wipes his face so the rest of the pack don’t see the tears. 

They stare at each other, unmoving. 

“It’s cold,” Scott finally says, breaking the silence. “Let’s go back to Derek’s and figure out how to fuck this thing up.” 

A chorus of affirmative replies cuts through the sounds of the forest around them, and Stiles follows after his pack, unable to see much in the dark. 

He doesn’t look down when fingers wrap around his wrist and then slip to fit around his own lest he fall into the mud. 

He just glances over his shoulder to find Derek staring at him, eyes all wide and wet. Stiles’s gaze goes soft and he smiles all small and fond. 

“C’mon, big guy. Let’s go get warm,” is all he says about it, leading Derek into the house by their joined hands. 

Scott chokes on his water, and Allison has to pat him on the back a couple times after they walk in to join the rest of the pack in the refurbished living room. 

But no words are spoken about how Derek presses in extra close to Stiles during the movie they watch after official business is done. 

And the cold bit into his skin too much anyway for Stiles to be complaining about the extra heat of another body next to his own. 

His notebook sure gets the brunt of it though later that night when he’s all alone, and he pours his every thought and fear into it. 

And he tries really hard to pretend that he doesn’t wear the leather jacket to bed. 

He really, really does.

* * *

Fifth times the charm, or at least that’s what Stiles tells himself as he descends the steep cliff he once fell down all those weeks ago. 

The chill of winter bites into his skin and he pulls his parka closer to his body, trying to keep that heat in there. 

His shoes, new ones with extra grip, still slide this way and that through the mud as he makes it further into the bog water beyond. The map crumples in his shaking fingers, and he follows the lines he made. He follows the trails that these creatures have made, leaves and brush pushed down in unnatural ways. 

“God doesn’t build in straight lines,” he mumbles to himself, as if the pack is here to listen to him make an awesome movie reference. Each snap and movement of the forest has him settling his teeth differently in his mouth, always on edge, weapon poised as if to fight. 

He’s not here to fight, though. Just for information gathering. Or so he tells himself as he plucks on and on until the stench is so bad he’s retching into the grass. 

It gets worse as he keeps going further and further until he’s up to his thighs in mud and stinky, sticky, green water that clings to his clothes. 

So much for new shoes. 

His map gets all dirty, but he doesn’t have to search for the source for much longer. A large, gaping hole in the ground opens up, and as he leans in he can see the curve and slide of tunnels formed by something... with crazy strength. Strength he doesn’t want to test right now. 

So he hightails it out of there as fast as the thick mud will let him. He’s just on the bank of it when breathing becomes hard. That thick fog of stench is still following him, and it’s not until he turns to look behind himself that he realizes from what. 

Little heads poke out from the holes, creatures screeching and running across the top of the mud to where he’s sunk into it. 

“Shit,” he breathes, and ditches the map. He moves faster. 

The daylight is bright through the trees in the canyon of the hole dug here, and the creatures hiss when it meets their skin, but it doesn’t deter them much from chasing him. 

These smaller beings are slower in their race for his throat, and he makes it out by the skin of his teeth as he runs directly into a patch of sunshine. They dance around the shadows, but decide that ultimately he’s not the prime steak they thought he was and they retreat in an army-like formation. 

Stiles runs like his life is on the line. He runs so fast he trips over his own legs. Stiles runs so fast there’s no more mud to be found on his shoes by the time he’s back on the street by his car and not hidden in the bank of trees. 

He plants his hands on his knees and folds over himself, breath coming fast. He doesn’t get a chance to catch it as he’s startled out of his haze by a growl. 

His head snaps up and he watches as Derek stalks over to him. There’s no one else here, the school parking lot devoid of cars, besides his and Derek’s, because of winter break. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Derek practically roars, and Stiles postures himself so he’s standing straight up, chest puffed out. 

“Doing the job no one else has the guts to.” 

“Because none of us are as stupid, thick headed, and stu —“ 

“You already said —“

“ _Stupid._ ” Derek scowls at him, and Stiles glares right back. “So what did you find out?” 

“Pft, like you fucking care.” 

“Of course I care,” Derek counters as they make their way to where their cars are parked. “And there’s no way you’re getting into a car like that.” 

“I’ll get in my own damn car wearing whatever I damn well please, thank you very much. Now, I’ll meet you back at your place if you —“ 

“I’ll drive you.” 

Stiles gapes at him, slack jawed. 

“You... your... like this?” Stiles gestures to himself, and Derek just shrugs and stares off into the distance, squinting as the sun meets his eyes. 

“You can shower and change, I’ll have Scott drive your car down to my place. We can have a pack meeting and discuss what you... found. Other than rotten eggs.” 

“Rotten eggs have nothing on what those fuckers smell like,” Stiles grumbles, and almost gags at the memory. The smell on his clothes? Not even close to the real deal. 

And, against Derek’s better judgment, he gets into the beauty that is the black, sleek, gorgeous Camaro. 

He rubs the clean parts of his hands against the leather interior. If he wasn’t still riding an adrenaline high, and if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was hallucinating, he could have sworn Derek preened at the obvious praise. 

They ride in relative silence, other than the squelch of Stiles’s shoes here and there, radio on low and on some classical channel with a strum of a guitar and a beautiful peel of a piano. 

Stiles finds himself humming to it, and only realizes he had been when the car comes to a halt, purring as it turns off. 

“Sorry,” Stiles apologizes both for being so obviously annoying Derek and also for the mess he leaves behind in his wake as he gets out of the car and trudges up to the house. 

“Take your shoes off before you make a mess of my damn house,” Derek calls after him. 

“Sure thing, mom.” 

“Your mom is dead,” Derek shouts back, and Stiles almost stops, but he just shakes his head and finds himself half smiling as he tries desperately to get his shoes off. Derek walks by him and into the living room. 

“So is yours,” Stiles yells as Derek disappears around a corner. He can hear the amusement in Derek’s voice when he replies. 

“Touché!” 

Stiles showers while the rest of the pack takes their time getting to Derek’s, and while Derek prepares snacks. 

When Stiles gets out of Derek’s shower, he finds a clean pair of sweatpants and a large shirt laid out neatly for him. He pulls the clothing up to his nose and finds that it smells soft and like clean linen. 

He hums happily and sings a little song while he gets dressed. 

His skin still feels sticky from the mud, and he still undoubtedly stinks like a big ol’ bog, but at least he’s not trailing what looks like shit stains around Derek’s house anymore. 

There’s always a plus side to everything. There’s even a plus side to diving headfirst into enemy territory. 

The clean clothes are soft against his skin, and the chafing of his thighs stops even when he’s walking down the stairs. 

It makes him smile happily. 

And then he realizes what he looks like as he rounds on the pack who are all staring, frozen, at Stiles. His hair all tousled, in _Derek’s clothes_ , smelling like a shower and coming from _Derek’s room_. He blushes bright red and stammers out half formed, embarrassed words. 

Derek clears his throat from where he’s standing in the doorway of the living room and kitchen. 

“Food’s ready,” is all he says, and Stiles scurries to find a place on the couch next to Scott, baggy clothing now feeling air tight and all too hot again his flushed skin. He pulls at the color of the white shirt as if it’ll help him breathe better. 

“Dude,” Scott whispers in his ear, “nice!” And he gives Stiles a thumbs up. Stiles opens his mouth as if to reply, but then Derek’s cutting him off again. 

“Tell everyone what you found.” 

Stiles clears his throat a couple times and shifts in place as all the eyes are on him again. 

“Well... you see... I just happened to be walking —“ 

And so Stiles tells them the story of the creatures. And their bad smell, and their babies, and their aversion to light. 

And the big, gaping hole they live in underground. And their gross spider legs and how one time they looked like Derek, and another time like Lydia. 

There’s a silence after he’s done talking, and then voices are shouting at him, at Derek, at each other, fighting for dominance. 

“Be quiet,” Derek bites out, and everyone’s mouths snap shut. He turns his eyes to Stiles. “What do you think we should do?” He asks. 

It knocks Stiles breathless. They lock eyes and just stay like that for several long, pregnant pauses. His mouth opens and closes like a fish a couple times before sound comes out. 

“Nuke it?” He suggests, and Scott claps him on the back. 

“Good one, and on that note, I think we’re done here. Allison gets off work now so I gotta get home. You guys hash it out, I’m good with whatever.” 

Scott leaves. And then everyone else comes up with a good excuse too, all having to get home at this late hour. 

As the last of them filter out through the door, Stiles lets his body sag, lets the tiredness of the day take over. He slumps on Derek’s couch. 

A tap on the shoulder breaks him out of his almost nap. He glances up and sees Derek offering him a sweater. 

“It gets cold here at night,” he says, and does that little thing with his shoulders that’s kind of a shrug and kind of just a spasm of his muscles. 

“Thanks...?” He forms the word slowly. “I should be getting home, it’s —“ 

“Already called your dad. You should stay here tonight, you know for...” Derek clears his throat. “...for your safety and all.” And shrugs again. 

Stiles blinks his sleep heavy eyes and yawns. 

“Yeah, sounds good to me. I don’t think I can drive like this. I can just take the cou —“ 

“Guest room is upstairs, two doors down on the right. You know where the bathroom is.” 

And then he’s left alone as Derek bounds up the stairs. He makes minimal noise as he gets ready for bed, and it almost sounds like Stiles is here alone. Especially with all the lights down. 

He drags his body across the floor until he hits mattress. He only has half a brain working, but it makes him put the sweater on and pulls the blankets up over his shivering body. 

Soon enough, the warmth of sleep settles over him. He cuddles into the threads of the sweater that smells like home, and he drifts to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Stiles wakes up feeling boneless and fucked out. He blinks his eyes open and sees just the hint of the sun over the skyline, and he rolls back over to face away from it with a contented sigh. 

He pulls the blankets up higher on his body and rolls around until he’s comfortable again, all sprawled out and floating in that space between being conscious and dreaming. 

He feels the slight dip in the bed, but he doesn’t even pry his eyes open again until the smell of bacon hits his nose, and the snick of the door clicking shut echoes in the room. 

Stiles lays there for another ten or so minutes before he makes himself sit up and eat. He drinks down the orange juice greedily, and eats the bacon, eggs, and sausage as fast as he humanly can. It drips in butter or grease, or whatever deliciousness it is, and he tries not to moan around each bite. 

And then it’s gone and he’s full and rolling back over into a comfortable sleep so deep, nothing could wake him up from it. He doesn’t miss the press of hands to his neck as Derek grabs his plate and exits, letting him sleep off the stress of almost being killed a few times. 

He’s so grateful he doesn’t even snore. 

And he doesn’t even stir until there’s a sound so loud he springs out of bed and into action. There’s a crash and a bang of something breaking downstairs, and voices echo through the house. 

He races down the stairs, but he really should have taken more time to prepare himself for this. Deep down he knows _nothing_ could have prepared him for _this_ , but maybe spending two fucking seconds to wake up could have. 

Cora drags a bleeding Derek through the living room, red blood dripping to stain the white of the carpets. 

“What the fuck?” He shrieks, but the rest of the pack pay him no mind. They just keep tending to Derek. Derek who’s dying in his own house. 

Stiles rubs at his eyes to make sure he’s not having a nightmare. When he opens them again, Derek is strung out on the couch, eyes rolling back in his head and mouth parted on a scream of pain. 

Stiles rushes to his side. 

“What the fuck,” he repeats, “did you do?” 

Derek’s hand flails out and finds Stiles’s. Their fingers twist together and Derek breathes in all deep and wet, and then lets it out in a shudder that shakes what feels like the whole damn building. 

“Stiles,” he croaks, and turns his head with a wince so they can lock eyes. Derek’s eyes are bloodshot and bleeding red in more ways than one. “Stiles,” he whispers, and his eyes flutter shut. 

“Hey, big guy, stay awake, okay? You gotta stay awake for me, okay?” Derek hums and his fingers tighten in Stiles’s grip. His eyes blink open sluggishly. Laura and Boyd gather first aid supplies and start packing in the deep gashes in Derek’s skin. Stiles swallows the vomit in his mouth, and he resolves to just look at his face. 

That part of him, luckily, isn’t too banged up. 

He threads his fingers through Derek’s blood clotted hair. 

“Just stay awake for a little while longer okay, honey?” He asks, and Derek makes an affirmative noise. 

“Hurts,” he gasps as alcohol is poured over his wounds and onto the gauze holding him together. 

“We need to call Deaton,” Scott whispers, eyes wide. “This is... fuck, Stiles. It was so bad. I don’t know why he did it.”

“What did he do?” Stiles asks, voice barely there. 

“He just... walked right in and challenged their leader. Said something about them hurting his mate or something and then they just... fuck... they swarmed him and we couldn’t get the little ones off, and they just... we didn’t get to him in time. We lit that place up and ran so fast, let them burn but... we didn’t... we didn’t get there in time.” 

Scott’s eyes drip tears onto his hands that hang heavy in his lap where he kneels next to Derek just like Stiles. Stiles spares one of his hands so he can give Scott a reassuring squeeze. 

“I know you did your best, buddy.” 

Scott just nods miserably and gets up so Stiles can get closer to Derek, their skin touching now. 

“You smell like bog water,” Stiles comments, and his fingers trail through the mud caking against the denim of Derek’s jeans. Derek just snorts, face contorting in pain right after he does it. 

“S’least I don’t smell like Scott,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. Stiles laughs hysterically for a long time, and he pulls in these deep breaths like maybe it’ll save him. Derek just looks at him, face unreadable. After he calms down, after the pack leaves to take over clean up duty in the kitchen, after they’ve let him know Deaton is on his way, that’s when Derek shifts so he’s pressed against Stiles in a long line. 

He sighs, and this time it’s a happy one. 

“Better,” he breathes, and his eyes slide shut. 

“Hey, no sleeping.” He slaps Derek’s face, and Derek’s brow furrows. 

“Not sleepin’,” he slurs. “Just resting my eyes for a minute.” 

Stiles snorts around the snot in his nose. His vision clouds as tears rise and fall down his cheeks. They fall against Derek’s dirty skin, making little tracks as they trail down. 

“Just a little bit longer, okay?” 

“Can’t. Tired.” 

“Derek, c’mon, please. Just gotta stay with me for a couple more minutes.” 

“Always with you. Always have been. Just too human to see it.” 

“Yeah I know, I’m too human for you, buddy. It’s okay, it’ll all —“ 

“No,” Derek says, all of a sudden very lucid. His eyes are all big and wet as they search Stiles’s face. He grips Stiles’s wrist like a vice. “Just the way you are. Love you just the way you are.” 

“Derek, what —“ 

And then Derek’s grip turns searing, and both of them are screaming out in pain. Derek roars so loud the windows shake. Stiles screams so loud his own ears hurt. 

The pack comes rushing in, late to the party again as Derek’s body contorts. 

Stiles is shoved out of the way, cradling his wrist as he goes, tears of pain flowing freely now. Derek’s teeth fall to form fangs, and his claws rip into the cushion of the couch as his back bows off the padding of it. His face contorts in agony, mouth wide open and making a sound Stiles’s human ears can’t hear. 

And he’s helpless, just watching Derek as he thrashes back and forth, mouth foaming and foreign like those same lips didn’t just confess to him not thirty seconds ago. 

And then Deaton is busting the door down, syringe in hand, and he plunges it into the muscle of Derek’s thigh. 

And then everything goes still. For several long minutes, no one dares to breathe. Not a muscle is moved. 

Then Derek is groaning and rolling over to drop onto the floor and Stiles is on him in a second, helping him back onto the ruined sofa. 

Derek blinks his eyes slowly, red bleeding out until they’re his normal color again. That’s when Stiles lets out a shaky breath that ghosts over Derek’s face. 

Derek’s focus turns to him, their gaze meeting. 

“Hi,” Derek breathes, and Stiles laughs. 

“Hey, big guy.” 

Stiles watches in awe as the pack removes his bandages, the skin knitting tightly back together like brand new. Derek makes a face as it happens, but then he settles back down, lets his body sag into Stiles’s hold. 

The pack checks over Derek one last time before departing, Scott the last to go. 

“See you Monday at school!” Scott shouts over his shoulder at Stiles, door slamming shut behind him. 

And then they’re alone. 

Holding each other. 

On Derek’s ruined couch. 

Just staring into each other’s eyes like it isn’t a big fucking deal at all. 

“You smell weird,” Derek finally says, and Stiles cracks a smile. 

“You smell like an asshole.” 

“That’s because I am one.” 

“So you admit it?” Derek shrugs again. Stiles shakes his head fondly and looks up at the ceiling as if asking for strength. “What am I going to do with you?” He asks no one in particular. 

“I can think of a few things.” 

And Stiles could blink and he’d have missed those words, they’re said so quietly. Instead though, he’s shoving himself up onto the couch and over Derek, completely ignoring the fact that now they’re both filthy. 

And he slams his lips into Derek’s. Derek makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat and Stiles swallows it right up. They lay like that for a long time, in each other’s arms, mouthing at each other’s skin. 

And one word rings true in Stiles’s mind. One word he can’t quite get out of his head. Something Derek called him in front of the whole pack and their enemies. 

“Mate,” Derek growls out as if reading his mind. When Stiles looks up at him, his eyes are bright red again, but his face is relaxed and happy. 

“Yeah, buddy. Mate.” 

“Mine.” 

“All yours, big guy. All yours,” Stiles confirms, and that is all the consent Derek needs before he’s throwing Stiles over his shoulder and bouncing up the stairs to Derek’s room. And Stiles lets him. Lets him take what he needs, the fear and stench of death still heavy in the air. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, reverence heavy in his words, as he lays Stiles down on his bed carefully. “Stiles.” 

It’s slurred around extra teeth, and Stiles smiles up at him. 

“Yours.” 

“ _Mine_.” 

Derek forms himself over Stiles and mouths at his neck, scenting him. 

He rubs his stubbled face into the skin there, and licks at the sweat gathering in the dip of his collarbones and the stretch of his muscles. 

“Clothes. Off.” Derek bites the words out, but they’re not mean. He caresses Stiles’s skin as they both get gloriously naked. The first brush of pure skin to pure skin is torture and heaven all at once. It makes Derek growl and it makes Stiles hum appreciatively. 

Derek takes him time taking Stiles apart, takes his time mapping out every damn inch of him until Stiles is shaking apart, Derek following not long after. 

“Thought I lost you,” Stiles says after they’re sweat and come covered and panting out heavy breaths, just lying next to each other. Derek turns to face him and stares for a long time, taking in each mole on Stiles’s face. 

“Always with you,” is his reply. “Always.” 

“I love you, too,” Stiles says, and Derek _preens_. He even blushes so bright it turns the tips of his ears pink. “More than words can describe.” 

“Pretty sure your notebook is _full_ of some choice words that describe — _hey_!” 

Stiles smacks him with a pillow which gets tossed right back in his face. 

“That’s personal shit you don’t just read —“ 

“ _Stiles Hale_ ,” Derek teases, and Stiles pretends to be livid. But then Derek’s eyes go all soft, and his smile turns big and dopey, laugh lines showing and brow going all loose and pliant. And Stiles really can’t resist that face. 

“You owe me for that.” 

“Deal.” 

“Hey, Derek?” 

“Hm?” 

“Does this mean I get to tell the pack?” 

“Oh, fuck.”

###### 


End file.
